Blood Winter: Immortalibus Bella 3

by SL Figuhr

  “My lord.” The man bowed, and pointed toward a narrow road, barely wide enough for a cart, which ran past the church and into the forest. “If you follow that road, it will take you to the next village. From there, they can tell you of any more nearby.”

  “Thank you,” the earl replied.

  Saizar called out for two of the men to stay behind with the earl while the rest were to follow him. The forester, along with some of the other men who had finally stopped work and drifted over, watched as the lawmen split. All but one of the remaining pack mules went with the sheriff and his group. They clopped off down the road. The forester looked avidly at the nobleman and the two lawmen who’d elected to stay behind. His amazement grew as the men swung out of their saddles.

  “Have you a name, sir?” the earl inquired of the man before him.

  “Yes, my lord. William Stoutoak.”

  “As the ground is too hard to dig, what have you in mind for your dead?”

  “We have come to the agreement we will burn them. Two of our men are gathering more wood as we speak,” William replied.

  “We will stay and help with your task. I do not know what your food or shelter situation is. If you are amenable, the palace will shelter, feed, and provide clothing for anyone who stays there,” Chadrick informed the man.

  The forester's face became wooden at those last words. “I will let the survivors know of the king's generosity. Thank you.”

  “Guts,” Sydney turned to the former butcher, “help to see what can be saved from the slaughtered animals. It is cold enough to keep the meat frozen. Samson, help with gathering wood for the pyre.”

  The two men bowed and started off to their appointed tasks. William had already trudged out of sight behind one of the smoking crofts. Sydney led the horses underneath a pine branch, and got them settled before helping.

  * * *

  The next morning dawned cold and gray. Sydney and his men woke with the remaining members of the village in the church. Fur and wool blankets crackled with ice as they stood. Bones ached from the cold which had seeped up from the stones as they slept, even with using pine branches and straw as bedding. The lingering stench of smoke mingled with scents of horse and dung. The lawmen ate a cold breakfast of jerky and hard biscuits as they went about the task of feeding, watering, and grooming their mounts. The village men had already left the church to check on the funeral pyre.

  Sydney and his men, leading their horses, stepped out into an icy morning. Behind the mountains, dark clouds could be seen stacking up as if something held them back. There would be more snow, possibly a blizzard, come nightfall. The funeral pyre had burned out. Some of the men used crude rakes and shovels to scoop up the ash and deposit it into any unbroken clay pot they could scavenge. One man moved among the burnt out crofts, trying to retrieve hidden food stores from dirt cellars. By the amount of swearing, he was not having much luck.

  Guts checked on the remains of the animals he had been able to help save. They were all frozen solid, dangling from branches of a big oak, macabre ornaments. All the men moved quickly; a sense of urgency prevailed as the lowering clouds continued to build up. What had started as a breeze slowly grew stronger as the day advanced.

  By midmorning, the village men, with the exception of Dan and a few others, had decided to gather what little was left to them and start toward town and the palace. Their eyes still shone with a mixture of grief, rage, and some resignation. Sydney wished them luck, watching as they trudged out of view, pulling a sled, hastily cobbled together and piled with frozen animal carcasses, behind them.

  The earl and his men set their horses to trotting on the road the rest of their party had taken. The wind reminded them of beasts, roaring in agony, and it blew hard, as if trying to stop their forward progress. The men pressed on, and by nightfall managed to reach the next village. A young boy, set on guard to look for them, brought the exhausted men and horses through the crude defenses to a tiny tavern. After caring for their mounts, the men tromped inside the tavern where a hot meal awaited them. The place was crowded, despite the howling wind, swirling snow, and stinging needles of ice outside.

  Saizar and the lawmen were not there, having moved on to the next small village. An elder, bent almost in half with age and leaning on a staff for support even though he sat, spoke for everyone.

  “Your sheriff has confirmed the rumors we've all been hearing these past months. So a foreign duchess has defeated Lord Nicky.” He paused to spit on the floor at the name, as did the rest of the villagers. “I know the fat asshole on the throne doesn't care about us beyond his precious taxes. So it has to be the woman who’s never met us, his latest toy, who sends us help.”

  “She has already proven herself to be a worthy successor to the title,” Sydney assured the gathered assemblage. He briefly outlined what she was doing.

  “Time will tell,” the elder replied. Grumbles followed his statement. “As you saw from our defenses, the bandits have made attempts to raid our village. Only a few of the groups were made up of people we don't know. Most of those who raid do so because of that bastard Nicky and the old sheriff, with their ruthless tax collections and unjust laws.”

  “I will carry your complaints to the new advisor. If there is nothing we can help you with immediately, we will leave in the morning,” the earl assured the people. After a few more bits of conversation, the lawmen were shown to a room for the night.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Lady Sally sat in her room, sobbing. She felt an outcast amid her own friends. She, who had once been their leader. After the events with Lord Nicky the night of the Harvest Festival, few of her friends wanted to visit. Sally thought at first they meant to offer her solace, but it was soon made clear they only thought of her as a novelty. In a fit of anger, the young woman had quarreled with the few girls whose parents still allowed them to associate with her. Thus, she found herself housebound and friendless. To add to her misery, her father presented Sally with a list of suitors for her to choose from. How was she expected to pick a husband from the worthless candidates her father claimed were the only ones available? Her parent wasn't even going to stay for the interviews; he was too busy playing lawman, helping peasants. Peasants! It was disgraceful, especially since she needed his help more than they.

  She wished Dennala had been allowed to remain her minder, but the slave had entered banishment with her mistress. She may have been across the yard with her mother in the dowager cottage, but for Sally's purposes, it seemed farther away.

  The young woman walked to her privy chamber, and tried to repair the damage her tears had done before she opened the door to her chamber. The guard outside stood blocking the opening.

  “Yes, m'lady?”

  “I need a request sent to my mother, asking her to please visit me on the matter of my suitors.”

  “Yes, m'lady. I will send a page. Will that be all?”

  She hesitated, then shook her head and disappeared back inside her room. She wandered over to the window; snow swirled outside, occasionally hiding the view. If only she knew where Lord Nicky was, she would run to him. She didn't believe the gossips and rumors of his disgrace which said he was a traitor and had left the country.

  * * *

  Lady Sally sat primly in the receiving room, wearing her second-best day dress, a somber navy wool with starched white collar and cuffs. Her hair was in a single braid, coiled at the back of her head in a bun. A bustle from the hall, and sounds of a sharp voice heralded the arrival of her mother. Lady Elizabeth entered the room at the same time as a kitchen slave bearing a tray of food and drinks. The countess was in one of her new, shapeless sack gowns, with a length of white linen wrapped around her head and neck. It made the stark oval of her face stand out more. Lines of age carved deeply upon her skin, and her eyes seemed to have sunk in their orbits.

  “Mother, thank you for coming.” The young woman stood and curtsied to her parent.

  The elder woman swept a glance over the offer
ings suspiciously, her eyes chilly as the weather outside. “Bribery? It seems your father's efforts at finding you a proper teacher leave much to be desired.”

  Sally bit her lip to keep the angry retort from slipping out while her cheeks reddened. “I only thought to make your visit more pleasant, Mother.”

  A cold eye pierced her daughter, who resided into silence. Elizabeth seated herself and flicked her fingers at the waiting slave. The girl poured a goblet of spiced wine and placed some victuals on a plate before setting both on a small side table. Sally reseated herself, folding her hands demurely on her lap.

  “What is it you want, Sally?” came the curt demand as the countess removed her thin white deerskin gloves. She left them lying in her lap as she picked up the goblet and sipped.

  “My suitors . . .”

  “What of them? If they are not to your liking, you have only your disgraceful behavior to blame. I do hope you have not dragged me out into the abominable coldness on a petty fantasy.”

  Sally sat, stunned at the uncaring tone. Her bottom lip quivered, and tears welled up in her eyes. She quickly brushed them away; her mother despised scenes.

  “Father and Martin insist I cannot marry Lord Nicky. I fail to see why not. Why can't the king command him to take me as his wife?”

  Elizabeth's nostrils flared in annoyance, and her voice came out sharper than normal. “Lord Nicky has been declared a traitor to the crown, his crimes so monstrous they have been forbidden to be spoken of. He has fled the kingdom. Your unfortunate liaison with him makes you . . . suspect. If it weren't for your father’s and my intervention, you would have become a royal prisoner—a fate which would not have ended kindly. ”

  “But . . . but—” The tears she had been fighting back spilled out.

  “Kindly stop sniveling. I cannot abide overly emotional scenes.”

  “What am I to do? Have you seen the list of prospects Father has for me? I can't marry one of them!”

  Lady Elizabeth took a sip of her drink, and coolly regarded her daughter over the rim of her goblet. Her unfaithful husband had graciously consented to give her a copy of the list. She despised him for humiliating her, for the shame and degradation he continually brought to their family by openly flaunting his affair with that wretched duchess. But, she was forced to admit, he had done his best to find suitable candidates for their daughter. Even if that meant a merchant's son or two populated the list.

  Sally quietly cried into an embroidered linen square. It had been a month since she had been with the former advisor. Since then, her moon-flow had come. The physician who was tasked with her health declared she was not pregnant. His words had sent hatred for him throughout Sally's being. His words meant there were no obstacles to her being married by winters end.

  “I do not see the problem with your father's list. I suggest you pick the least onerous out of the bunch. And Sally, do not think by marrying, you will be free to engage in extramarital affairs as your father does. Should you disregard my advice, I will disown you.”

  “Mother!”

  “I have nothing more to say.”

  “But . . . but—”

  “No, Sally.”

  “Can—can you at least give me your opinion on which one you think best?”

  Elizabeth's mouth thinned as she glanced at one of the causes of her daughter's pain. The scroll sat between them, half a dozen names on the list. She picked it up, unrolled it, and read over the information yet again.

  One man she considered too old for the simple reason when he died, her daughter would be free of any guiding hand. A second man she rejected as too young; he would not be able to tame Sally's wayward tendencies. That left four men, which included a fairly well-off merchant, a member of the royal guard, a second son of a second earl, and lastly, the fifth son of a baron with a small manor and lands.

  She debated the merits of each man, listed next to their names by her husband's steward. Elizabeth handed the scroll over to her daughter with her recommendation.

  Sally's face, which had been hopeful up to that point, fell. Her upper lip curled in disdain.

  “But Mother! He is merely a Mister! And—and—he lives in the countryside!”

  “You asked my opinion, and I have given it.” She turned to command the slave who still stood waiting quietly, head bowed and hands clasped before her. “Have my cloak and muff fetched immediately. I am taking my leave.”

  The slave bobbed a curtsey and hurried off. Sally let out a wail.

  “But Mother!”

  “Stop it! Stop it right now! It's time you grow up. You chose an action, now you must deal with the consequences.”

  Elizabeth bundled herself up for the short trek across the yard as her daughter continued her wailing. She left the mansion to the sounds of weeping and her own bitter thoughts.

  Damn Chadrick for this mess. I will never consent to a divorce, no matter how many times he goes begging to the king. At least my other daughter is someplace where she cannot embarrass us.

  * * *

  Lady Sally sat sulking as Crystal arranged her hair. She was already dressed in a modestly cut gown, which was at least an improvement over the shapeless sacks her mother would have wanted her to wear. Her father still was not back from gallivanting around to useless, poor villages. Her maid brought her what rumors she could, which wasn't much. Displaced villagers from the outlying lands of the kingdom straggled in. They claimed empty or abandoned shops and homes. The nobles jockeyed for position of king's advisor, despite His Majesty's threats on the subject. The duchess, whom Sally blamed for every misfortune she currently endured, was still away. The last of her possible suitors was due to arrive this afternoon.

  Once her slave finished with the plain hairstyle, she escorted her charge to the receiving room.

  A different slave opened the door to admit both women. “Lady Sally,” he announced to the skinny man shifting on the hard wooden couch.

  She stared a moment in dismay; her body slave, Crystal, gave her a sharp poke, forcing her to enter. The man stood, wide-set eyes roving up and down her frame.

  Sally stopped three feet away, and curtsied as protocol demanded while he bowed to her.

  “Your ladyship, I am Baron Richard von Winesburg. It is an honor to meet you. The descriptions of you did not do you justice.” His lips twitched.

  She was horrified at his attempts to smile. It looked as if he were having spasms. I cannot marry him. “Thank you, my lord,” she gritted out.

  They both sat, she on another hard couch across from him. Crystal seated herself unobtrusively in a corner.

  Lord Richard cleared his throat, his protuberant Adam's apple bobbing. She refused to speak, sitting and staring at him expressionlessly. The minutes ticked by as he opened his mouth and closed it several times, reminding her of a carp. Sally took careful inventory of his outfit. He was dressed in a winter fashion from seasons past. His dark hair showed signs of being hastily combed back into place. It didn't fully erase the marks a hat left. He wore thick-soled riding boots.

  The sound of a door opening intruded on the otherwise silent room. A kitchen slave bearing a tray entered and set her burden down on a nearby side table. She then took one step back, lowered her head, and stood with hands clasped in front of her, waiting for instructions.

  Sally started to scowl before catching a glare from her body slave. She forced her lips into a smile.

  “Would you care for a drink of mulled wine? Or a bite to eat?” The young woman asked, as she had been instructed.

  “Ah.” The man gave a quick sideways glance to the offerings. “Yes, thank you. I should enjoy that immensely.”

  Lady Sally carefully poured a goblet full, handed it over with a linen serviette, and using the tongs provided, put a selection of meats and cheeses on a small plate before offering it to him.

  She then served herself, thankful neither he nor she would be able to converse while eating.

  To her horror, after a few mouthfuls, the ba
ron began chattering. The sight of the half-masticated food left her slightly sick to her stomach.

  She gave a delicate, imperceptible shudder at the man's poor manners.

  “Your father, Lord Sydney, thinks we would make a good match.”

  Pieces of food dropped out while he talked, landing on his baggy gray pants.

  “Is that so, my lord?” she murmured, keeping her eyes downcast so she would not have to witness him eating as she delicately nibbled and sipped.

  “I have a small country estate to the west of town. It produces flax.”

  O, Great One! Not another dirt farmer. He probably has an ugly, small shack, with no comforts, Sally uncharitably thought. She remained silent.

  It didn't seem Lord Richard noticed, or perhaps he took it as encouragement. Once he got started, he babbled endlessly of his days, and of what they entailed.

  She sat with a tiny, frozen smile on her face, and occasionally nodded her head or made ambiguous noises.

  Finally, the baron wound down. His face wore an eager-to-please mien. She would have gotten away with remaining silent until his last few words.

  “After all, I think it an excellent partnership between us. You will be able to get away from the town and the gossips with their unsavory rumors. A few years, and the birth of some sons, and you'll be considered respectable again.”

  “Wha-wha-what?” she stuttered, dumbfounded at how brazenly he spoke of her disgrace.

  He either ignored or didn't pick up on the clues of her dismay. “Yes. I mean, that is why we are here, is it not?” In his eagerness, he leaned close, causing her to pull back as much as the couch would allow.

  “I admit, I had not considered taking a tainted woman as a bride.”

  She felt her face flush red, and her temper rise. How dare this ugly, skinny, country, no-account baron cast a slur upon her. Without pausing to think, Sally opened her mouth and let his lordship know exactly what she thought of him.